Pendulum
by moon ash
Summary: The incident at Bella's birthday party prompts a physician's help. She bleeds and he heals. Rated M for mature content, contains adult themes and relationships.


**A/N: ****This is my first Twilight fic so please don't be too harsh on me! I got the idea a long time ago when the movie version of New Moon came out. It's based on the scene where Carlisle heals Bella's wound at her birthday party. I'm a huge Carlisle x Bella fan and really love seeing the two interact.**

**WARNINGS: M for 'Sexual References' (not too graphic, I hope) sexual tension and mild 'Blood-play' I guess. **

**I do not own Twilight or anything related to it. I don't make money from this. (Wish I did .)**

**Pendulum**

Delicate fingertips dig into coarse material whilst ancient, skilled fingers grip warm skin in return, soothing, careful, possessive. The heady medicinal scent prickles the air. Iron, small and insignificant, stills him for the smallest of seconds. With mastered hands the needle pierces the softness that falters him and closes the gap, finishing his duty.

Brown meets golden. Timid greets confident. Fingers stained red and palms damp, he thinks of little. She inhales quickly, forcing his attention from his desk to her. The wound weeps again, refusing to be subdued. Lips quiver, almost smiling at her body's fighting attitude. He inspects his work, counting the stitches with his fingertip. Blood, a fresh and rich droplet tumbles down his finger and palm, mixing with sweat. He falters, the sweetness reaching his sensitive nose. He sympathises with his son, the pull incredible. He hears the splash on the ground before it even hits, his senses far more attuned than hers. He gazes at the blood on his fingertips, years and years of hard training and restraint tempting him. His gaze flickers to hers, both fear and curiosity building behind the glassy surface. Her lips part as she makes no attempt to break the atmosphere, challenging him as his fingers stilled inches from his mouth, suspended in time. He doesn't realise that he's lost yet another inch until she seems to hold her breath, the sound of her thrashing heart pounding in his frozen ears. Fragile. Even those hardened with resolve feel the gentle tug of temptation.

His finger brushes his lips, ice against ice but he hardly feels it for the rush of sweetness to his senses. Invading and taking hostage, her blood creeps through his lip and to his tongue, naked to the eye but exhilarating to him. His eyes close for the briefest of seconds, a rare show for his unblinking race. Tongue touching his fingertip gracefully, he finally experiences his son's constant anguish. His body inwardly convulses, his senses screeching to a halt. Suspended.

Sweet fire invades his body, threatening to consume him like his son before him. Licking at every crevice of his body, her throbbing life pulses through his frozen veins, whispering sweet seduction and revival. Not even Esme can compare. He looks from his finger to her, eyes blazing.

To her it looks as if nothing has altered, his constant, unchanging state frozen, as always. Ignorant to the fire tearing his body apart, she regards him with surprise at his actions. Perhaps even he wasn't immune to human life force. Then she saw it. Molten gold searches her, burning deep into her the hidden core of her thoughts.

Tick…tock…tick…tock…the grandfather continues as they immobilize time, lock themselves in frozen fire. It takes the clock to realise that time is still moving. His eyes watch her as an expression, not unlike Edward's, graces his face. Yet it's dissimilar, more intense and wary, almost. She realises the room is too hot and he's too close, her body unconsciously shifting backwards onto the desk. Her back hits something and ink pours down the side the desk, causing her to gasp and try to mutter an apology.

She begins to blather but his changing gaze stops her. Darkness flicks over his eyes moments later and she realises the rules have changed. Frozen fingers take her chin and her skin reddens in protest. He's too close, too quiet.

Centuries have passed since he'd last experienced hot skin upon his lips. Love for his wife is one thing, hot skin is quite another. His fingers cup her chin as lightly as he can afford, his lips press against hers intently. He feels her still, terrified of his actions as she refuses to respond. His hands reassure her, holding her waist delicately. He trails down the fire, burning his lips as he kisses down her neck, stopping momentarily at her jugular. Such a heady, needy rush assaults him as her vein dances under his mouth, challenging his strongest resolve. Pain greets him, an old friend making an appearance as he moves from her neck and back to her lips. He's vaguely aware now that her fingers have since entwined in his hair, giving into what Edward has robbed her of so many times. Intimacy.

She realises that he's still reserved, choosing not to explore. Yet his fingers are playing with the zip of her dress, pulling and parting. Stilling, only his lips reassure her as he refuses to taste, perhaps it would be too much? Ice prickles her back as he tears away from her lips, his hands moving along her spine, tracing life. Slipping and stumbling, human fingers unbutton his shirt, a low chuckle responding to her slip-ups. Heat aside; she gazes at him, watching his contracting muscles despite his lack of breath. Sensing, he inhales sharply and prompts a small, shared laugh. Her dress straps fall down her arms, catching on the stitching. Wincing, her fingers clench his arms, the healer responding immediately. He moves to her arm, pushing up the fallen strap to kiss the wound. She flinches as coldness invades the area, numbing yet soothing.

Antiseptic assaults his mouth as he weaves a trail through the stitches, freezing the area in an attempt at comfort. The strong draft is nothing compared to the trace of her blood, miniscule yet dominant on his tongue, driving a will it its own. He acknowledges pain once more, not the stab of resistance but the ache of need. Her hands occupy themselves on his chest, dotting him with heat as her fingers stray dangerously. Tearing away from the wound he reaches behind her and violently shoves his papers along his desk, leaning her down to take their place. One arm underneath her and the other cupping her breasts he presses into her, sharing his need.

Feeling the coldness in her bones she writhes under his hands; enjoys what Edward refuses her. It occurs to her now just how powerful he is as he presses his body into her, more than able to murder her by simply leaning too hard. Yet he'd tasted her blood and resisted, needing her only on a primal level. The ability to bring this killer to his knees prompts heat within her and his hands on her modest breasts completes the circle. Iced pain shoots through her as his hands map and only then does she hear the high-pitched sound.

His zip descends with a tug and relief curls in every fibre of his being, the ache no longer restrained. He reaches under the skirt of her dress, and there finds fire beneath her cloth. He pulls them down as she lifts her hips, letting them drop to the floor by his shoes. He's as gentle as possible, yet he knows of the pain she's enduring and the marks that will last for weeks. Even for his race, he's remarkably gentle with her. For her.

He presses too hard, bruises form and red skin flushes as he prepares her, pain and pleasure colliding and melting on her skin.

There exists: Pain and pleasure, gold and brown and fire and ice as her body trembles, shakes with undiluted torture. She feels him suddenly, he's ready now and so is she. He freezes her as he pushes, but she accepts. Pushing and pulling, ebbing and flowing, nature plays on the study table.

He feels her stiffen, her nails digging into his arms. He feels no physical pain from her crushing grip, but emotionally, it tears him. He brushes his lips against hers, still blood stained from earlier, and he kisses her. She threatens to cry as he pushes so he gently shushes her, whispering sweetness into her ear. It comforts her, supports her as he now moves, pushing deep as her back arches off the polished oak. His lips bruise hers and he tugs on her hair, finding restraint an enemy, a chore. He's thankful for his son's restraint; the black bruises will take a long time to heal as his fingers grip and tug.

Crushing her ribs, waist, scalp and breasts, he moves rhythmically, pain and pleasure fluctuating like a pendulum. Her legs lift as his hips move, pushing too hard, pressing too deep. She embraces the pain, attempting to spoil his unflawed skin with her nails as the icy chill touches deep within her. Eyes lock, she gasps. The heat of her skin melts his fingers and her sweat smears his forearms, heating deep into his bones. Eyes refusing to break the gaze, it ends.

She pants, bracing herself against the ice and arching as it cleanses her. She hears him groan into her ear lightly, feigning human emotions…for her sake. Minutes race as she gathers her breath; he looks as if nothing has happened. He retreats, she winces. He zips up and straightens, unhurried, and she sits up, pulling the straps of her dress up to hide her modesty. Panties are handed back with a smile, blushing cheeks respond.

"I...I should get back the party," she mumbles, holding her forehead for a brief second before gesturing towards the door.

"That would be best," he agrees as he re-organises his desk effortlessly. A second later and he's finished, the desk pristine once more, "We've already taken longer than necessary." She nods, now unable to hold his molten gaze as he burns her bloodied rages in a mortar. "Here," he continues, forcing her gaze upwards. She takes the item from his outstretched and examines it. Fear controls her.

"For the blood," he explains.

**A/N: ****If you'd like to leave a review then please do, just to give me an idea as to whether to write another one or to never touch Twilight fanfics again. Ever. Thank you~**


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